


The Little Drummer Boy

by MickyRC



Series: Star of Wonder Ineffable Advent [9]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Advent Calendar, Christmas, Gen, Holidays, I mean if you didn't get that from the title, Inspired by Music, The Little Drummer Boy (Song), actually maybe more than canon-typical religious themes, but still, canon-typical religious themes, i'm projecting my religious insecurities onto this universe, what can i say
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-09
Updated: 2019-12-09
Packaged: 2021-02-26 03:40:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,496
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21736969
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MickyRC/pseuds/MickyRC
Summary: What do you give when the only thing you have is your everything?orThe author projects heavily onto the little drummer boy being comforted by Aziraphale.
Series: Star of Wonder Ineffable Advent [9]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1559308
Comments: 2
Kudos: 39





	The Little Drummer Boy

**Author's Note:**

> Day 9 of my Star of Wonder advent calendar, in which each day's fic is inspired by a song from my favorite Christmas album, The Roches' _We Three Kings._ It's also going up on tumblr [over here!](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/micky-r-c)

He stood outside in the stable yard, shivering in the nighttime chill. Part of him wanted to work through the little crowd, get up on tiptoe and peer through the window, maybe climb the low wall and look over their heads. But he also just wanted to run. Just get away. This wasn’t his place, even if he’d been sleeping in stables longer than he could remember. This wasn’t for _him._ He should just go now, before somebody noticed.

But every time he turned to leave, his eye caught on the star hanging low above the stable. It was by far the prettiest thing he’d ever seen, all silvery crystal light, bright enough to cast shadows.

And that was half the problem, wasn’t it? That the star was the prettiest thing he’d ever seen. That was all well and good for him, he was just a poor boy. A child without a parent, a shepherd without even a flock. Just the clothes on his back and the little skin-and-wood-framed drum he clung to as his last lifeline. But the other shepherds—the real ones, the ones with the herds to back up the name—said that the boy in the stable was more that that. He was a king, the king of all, they said. They had come to pledge loyalty, to see the wonder with their own eyes, and, most of all, to bring him gifts. The little boy in the stable would see things much greater than a measly _star_. Maybe already _had_ seen such things, things a boy like Mikhah could never even dream of. And he certainly couldn’t give him a gift worthy of anything. He didn’t _have_ anything.

He took a step backwards, then another. He didn’t have to look away from the star to get away. He could go find a hill, outside of town, and watch it as long as he wanted to. But he shouldn’t be here. This place wasn’t for—

“Oh! Careful, dear boy.” A hand landed on his shoulder, and he whipped around, ready to run. He didn’t have anything worth stealing, but he didn’t have anyone to protect him, either. He knew how to be hard to catch.

But the man he’d backed into didn’t seem angry, or even upset. He was just smiling down at him, and the hand on his shoulder wasn’t trying to hold him in place or move him. It was big, yeah, but warm, too, and it comforted Mikhah without him really understanding why. He found himself staring up, because the man’s pale hair was shining in the starlight, and he’d never seen anything like it. It wasn’t as pretty as the star itself, but it seemed warmer. More real, almost.

“Are you alright?” the man asked, and his voice was warm, too, soft and comforting. Mikhah hadn’t heard a voice like that in a very long time. He jerked a nod, but found he’d forgotten why he had wanted to leave so badly. “Have you seen him?” The light in the man’s eyes was excited and open, like he wanted to share it with him. Even when Mikhah shook his head, that light didn’t fade, just tilted a little. “Would you like to?”

Mikhah couldn’t answer that. His instincts screamed nod, his instincts screamed no, his heart screamed run and his head screamed don’t you dare miss this.

But the man was patient, and his smile never dropped while he waited for Mikhah to figure himself out. “I—I want…” the boy finally made out, then swallowed and forced his voice to cooperate. “I... can’t.”

Now the smile faded a little, but only because curiosity was taking its place. “Why ever not?”

Mikhah swallowed again, and felt the usual shame flare up under his cheeks. “I don’t have anything. Anything to give him.”

“Ah,” the man said, and he knew that was it, that it was time for him to go on his way, and look at the pretty star from a distance that was suitable to who he was.

But the hand didn’t leave his shoulder. “I’m sure we can find something, if you want to give him a gift.” Mikhah stared up at him. The man just didn’t understand, clearly, but he was already looking around the yard like a pile of gold or jewels was going to appear at any moment. “Let’s see, then. What are other people bringing? That could give us some ideas.”

_Ideas_ weren’t going to help, but Mikhah found he wanted to pretend, for a moment. “David brought his newest lamb. And Aaron and Thalia have flowers from the hill…” The man must have seen the dawning realization on his face, because he smiled even brighter.

“You see? It doesn’t have to be anything extraordinary. Just the act of bringing something is more than enough.”

Mikhah nodded, still wondering what he could possibly give. The shirt off his back? Something from the stable yard? Or—

He gasped. “My drum! I can give him my drum!” He reached for the strap to pull it in front of him. “My father gave it to me. I use it when we’re in towns, sometimes, or at night when the shepherds want to dance. It’s why they let me stay with them.”

But for some reason, the man didn’t look excited anymore. And he sounded even less so. “Oh, dear boy, I don’t think—"

“You said it didn’t matter,” Mikhah said, confused and a little hurt. This was his _world,_ hung here around his neck. He knew it wasn’t much, but it was all he had. “You said the act of bringing was the important part, even if the gift isn’t any good.”

“No, no that’s not what I meant.” He crouched down, so that they were eye to eye. “This isn’t just something you have, Mikhah. It’s how you survive, how you make your way in the world. Am I right?” He nodded, dumbstruck at the compassion in the man’s blue eyes. “Giving it away would hurt you, wouldn’t it?”

He wanted to shake his head. To say no, it’s just a drum, he would manage without it. And he could manage, probably, if he stayed in this town to beg and gave up on ever having a flock of his own. But… well, he didn’t want to do that. He liked the shepherds; liked their stories and their songs, and the way they let him tag along and sometimes slipped him more than his share of food in return for a simple beat.

“He wouldn’t want you to do that.” The man pressed the drum back against Mikhah’s chest. “He would never want you to give something it hurts you to lose.”

Mikhah stared down at the little drum in his hands. “Are you sure?”

The man nodded firmly. “Yes. He’s here to help. Sacrifice is all well and good, but he doesn’t need it. That isn’t the point of him.”

“I… still want to give him something, though.”

“Okay. Then we’ll find something. I’ll help you.” The star was reflected in the man’s eyes, twinkling in a mesmerizing tempo. Almost like it wanted them to dance.

He clutched the drum a little tighter. “Could I… do you think…” he couldn’t quite say it. It was silly, certainly. It must be.

But the man smiled encouragingly. “What are you thinking, dear?”

Mikhah took a deep breath, looking down at his drum. “Could I play for him? It’s not a gift, really, but it’s something I can do for him. Does that make sense?”

When he looked back up, the man’s face was split in a gentle grin. “Yes. Yes, it does make sense. I think it’s a lovely gift.” He stood up, and put his hand on Mikhah’s shoulder again. “Would you like help getting up to the front?”

Mikhah considered, looking at the crowd around the door. But he knew what to do, now. He had his gift, and he was going to give it. “No,” he said. “I can do it.”

The man smiled down at him again. “Good luck, Mikhah. I wish you all the best.”

When Mikhah finally left the stable, hands reddening and shoulders sore from the most passionate drumming he’d even done, the man was gone. It was only then that he realized he didn’t know his name, nor had he told him his. But then David came over to him, and took his hand, and asked if he would mind playing for them again that night, like he had for the baby inside. He thought a player like that deserved more than just scraps of food and place around the fire, and if Mikhah wanted, he would gladly show him how to manage a flock, let him help with his own. He had no son to teach, and Mikhah had no father to teach him. It was like a match made in Heaven.

It was, of course.


End file.
